


The Lover After

by Masky_Writer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Demon, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Sleeping Together, herion isn't mine he belongs to my s/o Ren, like super fluffy stuff, super fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 11:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20599775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masky_Writer/pseuds/Masky_Writer
Summary: Herion forgot nights could feel calm, until he met Molla.





	The Lover After

**Author's Note:**

> after what I posted before this felt needed

Herion didn’t know nights without his wife could feel so peaceful.  
Before now they always felt cold, and unsolved. Like a piece was missing. Overtime he got used to it, but the feeling never faded. It never left. He simply grew numb to the feeling. 

But he never thought nights could feel quite like this. Where the air felt warm, where his bed felt full, and where his heart felt whole once again.  
And to think, this tiny, rather chaotic little Demon could make him feel like this once again. It still boggles his mind.  
He never thought in a million years he’d find someone to heal his broken heart. Someone who stuck out in his mind much like she did. 

But he did. And he must admit, it’s the strangest relationship he’s ever been in. 

Molla was tiny, much smaller then any creature, humanoid or otherwise, he’s come across, and was quick as well. Teleporting in and out of spaces was simple enough for her to do. Sometimes she would simply pop up in front of him.  
He was always so scared of breaking her.  
She loved to say she wasn’t hurting. That she was okay. That since it’s all over, there’s no need to dwell. But he sees it. 

He sees the hurt when she flicks open her lighter and takes another long drag of the handy blunt she carries around.  
He sees it when she’s bent over the toilet, hurling her dinner back up from last night after a heavy round of drinking.  
He hears it when he passes that same closet, the one she thinks he doesn’t know about, and hears her sobs and weeps of guilt and pain behind the door that feels so real, even when she’s right next to him like this. 

But she never brought it up. 

So he never asked.  
But nights like this, when she’s completely sober, for once, and he’s actually tired, also for once, that he feels the hurting stops.  
That he sees her relax, claws clinging to his front in a weak grip, tail entangled between his legs, smooth skin pressed against his shirt.  
That he feels at ease, chest no longer heavy, brain no longer clouded with thoughts, and his heart full of something he never thought he’d feel again. 

Romantic love. 

Yes, these were nights he treasured. And treasure he did, as he finally laid his head down onto his pillow, pulled the blankets over both of them with a little magic, and pressed a loving kiss to the top of the Demons head, careful to mind the horns. 

Yes. 

With a snap of his fingers, the dim candlelight finally flickered our of existence as he let his eyes slide shut. 

These were the nights that made him feel peaceful once again.


End file.
